


walked right out of the machinery

by mrsalenko



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Death, Depression, F/M, Horror, Mental Illness, Mystery, Recovery, Romance, Self Harm, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-01-18 17:52:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12393132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsalenko/pseuds/mrsalenko
Summary: Shepard without the Commander. Everything implied and unsaid can bury a person. And sometimes they can be set free.They walked right out of the machinery.





	1. walked right out of the machinery part I

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of Changeling verse.
> 
> Warnings: Sadie Shepard's traditional bullshit and very unlikeable qualities. Mental illness. Character death. Violence. Night terrors. Grief. Sort of dark fic. Not a romance, at least not one it was supposed to be. Crit not sought, written to remember why I like stories still and that they still exist and will always be waiting for your escape. I haven't written for years and I miss it.
> 
> Title from Rydra Wong's Stargate fic, story unrelated.

PART I OF II

 

 

She chooses.

She chooses Ashley.

When they're two days from Virmire, when she's made her report, when she's drafted the letter to his mother-

'It was an honor to serve-'

She throws the stylus so hard across the room with her biotics that it embeds itself in the metal. She finishes the letter when she's drunk and then orders Pressly to proof read it and send it over the extranet. She then makes herself forget, forget he had a family, forget he was a person, forget he was her friend, forget that he was her lover. 

She tries. She really does. When she can't sleep, she drinks. When she can't drink she fights until her knuckles bleed and her nose is broken. She breaks her arm and doesn't seek treatment for three days just to feel something. She's pleased when it doesn't heal right, when there's a slight bulge to her ulna that shouldn't be there. 

It all goes to shit, even more to shit than it already has, two months after the battle of the Citadel.

She's sitting in a meeting with the brass, they're rambling on about budgets and medals and what memorials to erect to those that died when Sovereign attacked and that surely the threat is over. Shepard has been all but ordered to sit quietly. She lobbied, she'd begged to take her own ship and research the Reapers, and when that didn't work she threatened. They threatened her back, and she found she didn't care very much when they gave her a formal warning that a demotion and brig time were heading her way if she didn't stop making a scene. Sit there like a good little commander. Like a good poster girl for the Alliance. 

"What about Virmire?" someone says. "I don't think we need that kind of disclosure on black ops, the pension should placate the-"

Suddenly she's standing. She doesn't remember moving her legs or weight bearing. 

"Fuck off," she says calmly. "Fuck off."

"Shepard," Anderson starts gently, his eyes darting around the room. There's more of a warning in his voice. "Sit down."

"No," she says. It's the easiest thing she's ever said. "No, I won't sit down."

When she kissed him, he tasted like salt from sweat and his lips were rough and warm. His hand dwarfed hers when she laughed and held them together.

'Shepard,' he had said. 'I don't do this sort of thing lightly.'

She'd frowned, her heart thumping. Please don't say this. Please don't ruin this.

He'd looked away. 'What I mean to say is that when this is all over, I want to see you again.'

She'd swallowed, her throat so dry. She forced a laugh.

'Bet you say that to all the girls on shore leave.'

He stared at her. She noticed his eyes were very dark and almond shaped. She had always liked his dark eyes.

'No, I don't,' he'd said and kissed her softly in the curve of her neck where her pulse thudded. 'Just the pretty ones I can't stop thinking about.'

'And you,' he said, flipping her beneath him. She could feel his hardness between her legs. 'I just can't stop thinking about.'

Shepard shut her eyes and shut her heart. He was lying to fuck her, that was okay, she was lying too. She couldn't be with him, of course. People like her weren't built for people like him. This was only a bit of fun. 

"Shepard," says Udina, "Maybe it's best you left if you can't control-" 

She takes three steps towards him at the table. He stands automatically. She doesn't remember swinging her arm wide, she doesn't remember the sudden whoosh of gravity shifting in the room, but she does remember the satisfying way his body crumpled in the corner and the way his mouth bled where he bit his lip, blood staining his suit. 

"Get the hell out of here," Anderson barks, standing. Someone draws a gun on her. "Or you'll be dragged to the brig."

"I quit," she says, her voice empty. "You can have the Reapers." 

They cuff her anyway. She rips the first pair off, and three large marines have to hold her down so they can sedate her. She's not even sure what she's yelling but she's so angry spittle gathers at the corner of her mouth while she hisses like a cornered beast. 

Anderson stares at her with an expression he has never bestowed on her. Horror. 

And disappointment. 

She thinks maybe, just maybe, she's lost it entirely. 

She's dishonorably discharged. She doesn't give a shit, only missing the creds when they dry up. 

She finds an apartment on the shittiest section of the Wards. The city never sleep there. There's always noise, babies crying, drug deals going on at the noodle stand, the stench of refuse. It's the only place she feels she won't crawl out of her own skin.

Until the day, six weeks in, when Ashley shows up on her doorstep. Her eyes are filled with concern and Shepard wishes she could stop biting her nails so that she could scratch her eyes out with her bare hands. 

"Hey, Skipper," she says, offering a tentative smile. "You're hard to track down."

Shepard kicks the door open wider and walks back into her apartment without a word. She lights a cigarette on the way and snatches up her tumbler of whiskey.

"What do you want?" she asks, throwing herself on the ratty stained couch. "I'd offer you something to drink but I'd really rather save it for myself." 

Ash nods, as if expecting the rudeness, as if expecting to find Shepard having lost ten kilograms, her cheeks hollow, her hair long and lank and dirty. She smells like she hasn't showered in a week.

"I know you're taking.... well everything hard," she starts hesitatingly. "I just wanted to come and see you. We could talk. I miss him too."

Shepard hisses a breath through her teeth and then takes another deep drag. 

"I don't," she says. "Miss him. This isn't about him. This isn't about anything. I'm just sick of... the... the shit."

She waves her hand at nothing. Ashley's dark eyes glisten. 

"I brought you a book," she says, offering the small, old dusty thing to Shepard. "It has some nice things in there. I know you're not religious but I thought Whitman might-"

Shepard takes it. "That's nice. Now can you please go away."

Ashley frowns. "Shepard-"

Shepard stands up, rolling her eyes. "Look, Williams, I was pretending I gave a shit because hell, I don't know, maybe you have a chance out there. But I'll make myself plain, get the fuck out of my apartment and if you ever bring Virmire up again to me... I'll-"

Shepard searches for the word, for whatever she is trying to threaten her former friend with but Ashely gets the picture anyway.

"Okay. Alright, I'm leaving. Just... stay in touch, please."

Shepard leads her out and slams the door. Then she throws her glass at it and spends the next hour on the floor picking the fragments up with her bare hands. Despite the steadily dripping blood, she still feels nothing. 

Days pass into weeks and her funds are gone. She's constantly sick, from the hangovers or malnutrition, she's not sure which. At her lowest point, she doesn't have the strength to get out of the bare mattress she shoved in one corner of what she supposed counted as the bedroom.

When she sits up her head spins.

"Get up."

Her voice is weak and dry.

"Get up you dumb son of a bitch."

Shaking, her legs obey. She clutches the wall like a lifeline.

"You will not piss yourself," she tells herself. "You will walk to the bathroom."

She holds the wall the whole way. Her head lurches and darkness keeps creeping into her vision. She knows she's losing consciousness for milliseconds consecutively and only regaining it in time not to fall.

She laughs, the sound sick and bubbly, but it is kind of funny to be so pathetic. A trip to the bathroom like a hike across Mars, and the short trips to blackness are almost welcome, like a mini little adventure to the nothingness beyond life. 

Finally she makes it to the toilet and ungainly rolls down her panties. The relief is instant for her bladder, and she rests her feverish head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub to the side. She's sick. Badly. But she'd need medicine and that'd cost creds she doesn't have. Besides, she thinks she'd rather die than talk to someone. 

There's bloody clots in the bowl. She crawls out of the bathroom this time and curls up on the mattress. Her hair sticks to her face from the tears that sting her skin. She licks her lips and tastes salt. 

He sits down next to her on the stained mattress.

"Hey," he says gently. "You don't look so good."

She blinks up at him. "You look nice."

He does. His hair is dark and neat, all tamed curls, and that stubborn bit of hair that doesn't behave. His leather jacket fits him just right, and his jeans hide a healthy but leanly muscled frame. The simulated sunlight glints off the couple of gray strands he sports at his temples.

Were they there before? She doesn't remember. She doesn't dream of him much, just a dark vague figure out of the corner of her eye usually. Memories are for the horrible waking hours, for the endurance of memory, for sick clarity. 

"Thanks," he says, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "But I'm more worried about you right now."

She stretches her crackled bleeding lips in a smile. "Why worry, I'm fine."

He rolls his eyes, it's gentle though and the only person who'd get away with it. 

"Yeah, you look 'fine'." 

He lies down beside her on his side, facing her with his nose almost touching hers.

"You made the right choice. Stop punishing yourself."

Tears stream down her face. "I don't know why I'm crying. I don't know why I can't breathe anymore." 

His rough fingers trace her cheek, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. 

"I loved you," he said, his lips ghosting her cheek. "I should have said it."

Her stomach heaves with the effort of sobbing, muscles screaming she didn't even know she had. 

She doesn't answer him, just wraps her arms around his warm solid body.

"Did it hurt?" She shuts her eyes. "Dying?" she adds. 

"No," he whispers. "It didn't. Do you hurt?"

"Yes," she whispers back. "Everything."

"Do you want to live?" he asks seriously. "You know you don't have to, but you haven't eaten a bullet either. Is this an easier way to go?"

"No," she sobs. "I just want everything to stop. I wish I'd never met you, never heard of the Reapers, never had those damn visions. Does it matter if I die now or when they come?"

"Live," he urges, intense in a way she's never heard before. "You know what's behind door number one. No pain. No fight. Just rest. But that's boring. You don't want that. You want to fight, don't you? That's what you do. What about door number two?"

He takes her hand and squeezes it so hard it hurts. The bones crack.

"Scream," he says, "Louder than you ever have before. Scream, and I promise, someone will hear. This isn't the end. This is a beginning." 

She opens her eyes. No one is there. She balls her sore hand into a fist and slams it through the fragile wall.

"Help," she croaks at first. No one would ever hear it. 

"Louder," he orders. "Use your biotics. Throw the chair at the wall."

It takes every ounce of strength left in her but she does. It makes noise, a lot of noise as the wood splinters. 

"Help me! Help me. Please, god." 

She thinks of Ashley and her god, and everything is black. 

"Kaidan," is what she says before her head thumps with finality against the mattress. 

 

"Kaidan." 

She wakes up in hospital and immediately tries to rip her cannula out. Ashely leaps from the chair she was sitting in beside her bed and holds her down. It's a lot easier than Shepard would ever like.

"Easy!" Ashley says. "Easy. It's just the drip. Leave it, you need the fluids."

Shepard stops fighting. She's too tired.

"Where?" she whispers.

"Memorial hospital," Ashley says quietly. "Your neighbors found you. I came as soon as I heard."

"I never met my neighbors," she says, dazed.

Shepard squints at the room. It's too bright, she can't see. 

"Where is he?"

"Anderson?" Ashley questions, "He's been in as often as he can. He's worried but he's very busy. I'm sure he's sorry he wasn't here when you woke up."

Shepard turns her head. That wasn't who she was talking about. 

Ashley lowers the bed rail then perches awkwardly on the side of her bed like a hummingbird. 

"I... um, well you haven't really got any next of kin so I told them you were my estranged sister."

Shepard looks at her flatly. "We don't look anything alike."

Ashley shrugs. "You were adopted. Guess they bought it."

"Or didn't really give a shit about a random women who tried to off herself and they'd have to organize guardianship for," Shepard argues bluntly. 

Ash winces but makes a roll of her shoulders that indicates agreement.

She takes her hand. Shepard wishes she wouldn't and had the strength to pull away. 

"The um... baby is okay," she says, looking away from Shepard at a crack in the wall. "In case you're wondering."

Shepard stares at the ceiling and slowly works her hand out of Ashley's. Her heart beats a very slow tattoo in her chest. 

"I'm thirsty," she says. Ashley scrambles for water and a straw. The water is cool and tastes a little  
metallic, like blood. 

"I want you to leave now," she says. "Thank you for being here when I woke up. But I'm tired and want to sleep."

Ashley nervously tucks some hair behind her ear. "Oh okay. Sure. I'll check in with you tomorrow." 

Two hours later Shepard signs the discharge against medical advice forms, even though they threaten to schedule and hold her against her will on mental health grounds. She grits her teeth and says they can try. The doctor acquiesces, his eyes darting nervously to the way her eyes flicker an unnatural shade of blue and her fist lights with a weak blue shimmer. 

She walks home, buys a cup of noodles on the way with the last of her creds, and sits on her mattress and eats it, all while still wearing her hospital gown. She sleeps that night, dreamless but wakes screaming without remembering why. She climbs to her feet and drinks a glass of water and the lone apple in her fridge for breakfast.

The next day she has the strength to walk again, at least for a few blocks. Out of the bag of clothes flung in the corner she finds the tightest shirt she can manage, one from the days she went clubbing on shore leave. It's not as tight as she remembers but it will do when she cuts a little bit of the neckline to show some cleavage. She pulls on her black leather jeans next, but they're limp and don't do much for her. She shrugs. Some things can't be helped.

Then she brushes her hair, smears an ancient tube of lipstick on her pallid lips and tries to smile at herself in the mirror. It makes her want to cry again so she stops.

The first four bars reject her. The fourth is run by a harried salarian, who she struggles to keep pace with, breathing heavily from her day's efforts. She's sure she looks terrible. 

"Look, I need a job," she not quite pleads. She hopes anyway. "Anything will do. I know drinks. I can make cocktails. I can waitress." 

He pauses for a second, big dark eyes appraising her. "You look like a drug addicted hooker."

She snarls. "It's just pneumonia. Please. Give me a chance." 

"Nope," he snaps, bustling on, laying out more fancy napkins at the bar and wiping it down perfunctorily. "Not worth the trouble."

Frustrated and furious, Shepard reaches out and grips his spindly arm, not even sure what she's doing. There's that slow tattoo of her heart in her chest again. 

"Please," she says, bending his arm painfully. He yelps, large dark eyes darting around in fear. 

"Let go of me," he squeaks. "You're hurting me."

"Let him go," the gentle voice that sounds like him says in her ear. "He said it. You're hurting him. Why do you want to hurt him?"

"I don't," she says on the exhale, her fury draining to give way to exhaustion. "I'm sorry," she says louder, tears pricking her eyes. "I didn't mean-"

She turns to leave, resisting the urge to pull up her too loose pants or look in the many mirrors on the wall at her worn face. 

"Wait," squeaks the salarian. Shepard turns wearily.

"Please don't call C-SEC," she begs, thinking Garrus and how her last shred of pride would be flushed away if he saw her like this.

The salarians dark eyes watch her carefully with sudden interest.

"What do you weigh, human? Small, no?"

She shrugs. "No idea."

He bustles over, walking around her in a circle, examining her every angle.

"You on red sand?"

"No," she sighs. "I don't do drugs."

His eyes narrow. "You sure?"

She just stares blankly. "I said I was sorry."

"You're strong," he says. "But you don't look like it. Bone grafts? Cybernetics?"

"No." She just wants to go home and lie down. She'll have to swallow what's left of her dignity and call Ashley to borrow some creds. She needs to eat something. 

He smiles. Actually smiles.

"Biotic," he says silkily. "Aren't you? Show me."

Baffled and not up to summoning the memory for the mnemonics or the strength to throw anything heavy with the strength of her will and amp, she snaps her fingers in a specific pattern.

In a five centimeter diameter around her fingers motes of dust freeze in the air. The air distorts around her fingers, like she's looking through water, but in reality time is frozen because of drastically reduced mass. Her own bubble of reality, for just twenty seconds.

Breathing hard, she lets it go. She can't hold anything for long anymore.

The salarian grins with glee, showing a sharp row of teeth.

"You're hired."

She stares in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes. But you're not waitressing. You won't get any tips looking like that anyway. You're our new bouncer. Last one got put in hospital. Said he'd need time to regrow his leg." The salarian sniffs disdainfully. "Or something stupid like that. You're tough and you're small. People don't take you seriously until it's too late. I like that." 

Shepard actually feels the beginning of a smile before she remembers.

"I accept, of course... but..." she slumps slightly, leaning on a chair for support, "I've been sick. I don't think I could take someone like I normally could."

The salarian grips her arm suddenly, pulling her along. "Come, come, my wife. She's a good cook. She'll give you something." He shuffles her behind the bar and into a small back room where a surprisingly tall salarian is stirring something  
in a pot. It smells delicious. 

"Sheliea!" the salarian barks. "Feed this human. Make her eat. Vitamins too. I need her in fighting shape."

The female salarian looks up disdainfully at Shepard. "This one?"

"Yes, yes," he bustles around, grabbing some bottles from a cupboard. "Trust me for once. And don't upset her."

He rolls his sleeve up. A perfect bruise is already forming in the shape of Shepard's hand. 

The female salarian blinks. "Hmm. Maybe she'll do. Sit sit," she says, shoving Shepard into a chair. She plonks a bowl of soup in front of her and a spoon. "Eat, eat. Don't be ungrateful. You'll be paying this off." 

The male salarian places a small plastic cup in front of her. "Vitamins. Good ones. Some uppers. You'll feel better. Take them once a day."

Shepard eyes the tablets dubiously. "I'll pass."

The salarian narrows his eyes and removes a bright orange pill. "There. No upper. Just vitamins. Take, take go on." 

Shepard eyes the little pills and feels the soup warm her belly. She raises them to her lips and swallows.

That night she dreams again.

"You're going to live, you know," he says, kissing every inch of her whole full body before she wasted away, before she tried to undo everything.

She throws her head back on the pillow, grinning from ear to ear. He's tickling her so... just in the right spots. She feels vibrant, alive. 

"I know," she laughs. "I am."

His hands snake around her neck, tightening.

"Kaidan," she gasps, sudden panic settling in. "Don't, I don't like that, please, you know that."

Suddenly he's above her. His eyes are black. His body is cold. 

"You killed me," he whispers.

Tears fill her eyes. "Please. I'm sorry. Please let me go." Her hands scrabble at his fingers ineffectually, his strength more than hers. She can't breathe, gasping for air that won't come.

"Let go!"

One of his eyes has an odd red sheen. The skin of one side of his face is burnt away. He says nothing. As she struggles, the door creaks open.

A dog stands there, his mouth frothing with rage.

It stalks over to Shepard and bites a chunk of her stomach away.

Shepard lurches awake, screaming, clutching at her throat.

She fumbles for her her omni-tool in the dark, so frightened and shaking that it takes her two attempts to dial.

"Ashley? I need you. Please. I'm not okay."

She shivers in bed, soaked in sweat. Hands trembling, she gently touches the side of her abdomen. There's no mark there. But she doesn't fall asleep again.


	2. PART II

PART II of II

 

"Shep." 

Shepard glances over from her spot leaning on the wall. She frowns at Spike, the bartender on duty tonight. He's a clean cut man with a shock of dyed blue hair and dark neat beard. Shepard would almost call him attractive. Almost. Instead he just reminds her of Joker.

Some days she thinks of Joker, wonders where he is now but too afraid to even find out or speak to him. She doesn't even know what is holding her back. Maybe it's the tiny swell she covers so well with her black T- shirt. She doesn't know what to do, so she does nothing. A lesson she always taught green recruits she got stuck with on tours - even inaction is a decision. Inaction is a cop out, a way for the weak to claim it wasn't their fault, that there was no way out or no choice. There's always a way, she had said. Make a choice, make your own future, because you sure as hell don't want someone else to make it for you. 

It had made sense, back then. Back then everything was so clear and easy. Her days now were filled with queasy inaction, lost in fear and anxiety and restless dreams. 

Shepard bites her lip, hard. "What, Spike?" 

Spike nods his head to the dancers' stage. "Heads up, that turian is getting feelsy with Jaina."

Shepard nods and stalks over. Sure enough a turian with a lurid fringe is touching what he shouldn’t be touching. Jaina catches Shepard’s gaze and smiles with relief. 

“Hey,” Shepard barks, “Hands off or I’ll break them.” 

The turian whirls and looks down on her with a sneer. “And what are you going to do about it, human bitch?”

He’s very drunk and smells like paint fumes. Shepard nearly gags with disgust. Instead she snatches his hand off Jaina, bends it just so-

There’s a sick crack. 

He howls and falls to one knee.

“You broke it! You broke it you barefaced whore-“

Shepard rolls her eyes and kicks his knee out from under him for good measure. He yelps as he collapses in a heap on the floor. 

Jaina hops off the stage and puts her arm around Shepard’s shoulders.

“Oh Sade,” she breathes. “You do the nicest things for me.”

Shepard huffs. “I thought I told you not to call me that.” 

She giggles. “You did.” 

They stand and watch the pathetic turian mutter and writhe on the floor. Jaina yelps and backs away as he climbs to his taloned feet. Shepard doesn’t move.

He sways as he tries to glare at her. “I’m gonna kill you, human.”

Shepard remains unmoved. “Uh huh.” 

He takes a wild swing that she ducks, almost bored. He whirls on her, inhumanly growling, and decides to abandon form for force, rushing towards her. She supposed he was planning to knock her over and lay into her, but she never gave him that chance.

With a lazy flick of her wrist she throws a burst of biotics at him, the sudden force slamming him into the edge of the stage, where he finally gives up with a groan. 

Jaina bursts into a round of applause, squealing with excitement.

“Oh Sade!”

Shepard groans, and eager to escape the young gushing asari, she hefts the turian up by the elbow.

“You’re banned from here,” she says as she hauls him out. “You show your face here and I’ll break it next time, got it?”

He groans. She shakes him a little.

“Geez! Alright, alright! I got it.”

She throws him out the door, spins on her heel and heads for the bar.

“What’d ya want, Shep?” Spike grins. “On the house this time, Boss said so.”

Shepard gives a small inward smile, thinking of the salarian who’d probably saved her life and seems to see and know about everything in the bar, no matter the hour or how small. 

She hums, thinking. Creds are tight this week, so are meals. She scans the bar, her eyes checking out bottles of things she knows would make the nightmares go away, for one night at least.

Thinking better of it, she says “Glass of soda and those bag of pork rinds.”

“You got it, killer.” 

Shepard winces at the name, but ignores it, tearing into her pork rinds, doubting very much they’re actually made from pork but not caring much as the salty treat hits her tongue. 

A woman slides into the seat next to Shepard. Shepard pays little attention, busying herself with trying to lick every kernel of salt from the packet.

“I’d offer you a drink,” the woman purrs. “But I wouldn’t want to interrupt your little affair with that packet.” 

Shepard whips her head around, scowling. “Piss off,” she says ungracefully. 

The woman laughs and Shepard turns her attention to her. She’s stunning, actually beautiful in a way few regular people reached. Dark waves of hair fall around her shoulders carelessly, like she hasn’t even bothered but Shepard knows her own hair wouldn’t look that effortlessly good without a professional hairstylist. 

Piercing blue eyes meet her own and the woman’s full lips curves in a smile. She holds out a smooth manicured hand. 

“I’m Miranda.”

She has an accent Shepard can’t place. Shepard shakes her hand.

“Sade,” she decides to offer, and says nothing else. 

“That was an impressive display back there,” Miranda says, turning in her seat. Spike sets a glass of red wine in front of Miranda. She takes a small sip, relishing the taste. 

Shepard scoffs, fiddling with the packet and feeling suddenly boorish and uncultured. Her nails are blunt and her hair is a mess. All she has on is a black shirt and jeans. 

“Ex-military?” Miranda ventures.

“Something like that,” Shepard mutters.

“Of course,” Miranda affirms, ignoring Shepard’s blatant lack of interest in talking about it. “That’s where all the half decent tech comes from. Most of the time anyway, when they aren’t butchering it.” 

Shepard says nothing, sipping her water and wishing the woman would go away. 

“Are you an L2?” the woman asks bluntly. “You hardly look old enough of course, but that was impressive power for-“

“No,” Shepard snaps. “Standard L3. Now could you let me drink my water in peace?” 

“Of course,” the woman laughs, looking unbothered. “Forgive my rudeness. I’m simply curious. You’re the most interesting person in this room.” 

Shepard frowns. “I highly doubt that.” 

Miranda purses her lips and looks Shepard up and down. Shepard barely resists squirming in her seat. The woman’s eyes are like x-rays. 

“What if I could offer you more?”

“More what?” Shepard snorts. “Pork rinds?”

Miranda grins. “Not what I was thinking, but it could be arranged. I work for an organization. We’re recruiting members. Excellent pay you’ll find, room, board, state of the art facilities. We could even upgrade that implant of yours. Your ability is impressive but your wetwork is dated.”

Shepard blinks at her. “I’m not in the market for complicated brain surgery right now, thanks.” 

Should be fucking obvious, she thinks to herself, but maybe this Miranda woman doesn’t notice what the bar rim obscures. 

“A pity,” Miranda sighs, draining her drink. “I’ll give you my card. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

“I’m not fighting anymore,” Shepard snaps. “I quit for a reason.”

“Yes,” Miranda quips, “and what reason was that?”

Shepard’s teeth click as her jaw shuts and she finds she can’t answer. Her days are a mess of pure survival and nightmares. How can she say she doesn’t know? She doesn’t know where everything went wrong, when it all became too much to handle, when she couldn’t face the thought of making decision again, of having control of people’s lives. How it felt to leave her heart behind on Virmire. How some days, she thinks she’s actually gone crazy. When did life become just about survival? 

“Piss off,” she says again, and carelessly tosses the woman’s card on the beer stained floor. 

“Have it your way,” the woman says, the purr back in her voice. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I have a lot of projects at the moment. I’m sure I’ll capture your interest eventually.”

“Doubt it,” Shepard deadpans, going back to her water. 

On the walk home, Shepard feels like she’s being watched. As she lays in bed, unable to sleep, she thinks about him and the thoughts aren’t painful for once. She watches the light from the Ward play on her curtain at the window and drifts between dreams and reality. He had brown eyes, she tells herself. He was kind. He was terrible at poker and a bad liar. She remembers, even when the persistence of memory is cruel. 

She kissed him in the sun of a desert planet, their lips parched and dry. His skin tasted like sweat and he smelt like something with spice in it and... like him, something she couldn’t place or explain. He had kissed her back with force, their armor bumping off each other, and put his arm around her back, his lips going to her cheek, her neck, quick, - so quickly - before Ash rounded the sand dune and caught them-

Shepard jerks in bed from fright, waking suddenly. She doesn’t know what’s woken her, and she searches the dark room in a panic.

The room is still. The houseplant’s ( that Ash bought her in an attempt to ‘liven up the place’, whatever that meant) leaves rustle in the breeze from the ceiling fan. Shadows coat the walls, shifting in light from the Ward outside. Was there a shadow that crossed the windows or was it her  
imagination? 

“Is someone there?” she tries to demand but it comes out in a whisper. 

Nothing answers and she can see nothing. Shepard curls into a ball and puts the blankets over her head, hiding like a child. 

 

Ash sits across from her sipping the coffee Shepard made her. To her credit, she doesn’t wince on the cheap bitter taste.

“I feel like I’m being watched,” Shepard says suddenly. 

Ash sits her coffee down and licks her lips, like trying to coax out the right words. “Do you think you’re being a little paranoid? Skipper, we’ve talked about it before but-“

“Don’t call me that,” Shepard snaps. “I’m not your boss anymore. And I’m not seeing a psych.” 

Ash’s eyebrows draw together. Shit, Shepard thinks. She’s not backing down this time. 

“Shepard,” Ash starts. “You look like shit.”

Shepard opens her mouth to argue.

“Stop, no,” Ash demands. “You listen this time. You’re not the boss anymore, remember? You’re hearing things. You think you’re being followed-“

“I saw someone on the way to work the other day!”

“You think you did,” Ash cuts in. “Ever since Kaidan-“

“Shut up,” Shepard says, her voice dead. “We don’t talk about him.”

“Fine.” Ash rolls her eyes. “We won’t. But back then I shut my eyes and I shut my mouth and maybe that was my mistake. So I’m not shutting up now. You need to see someone. Get checked out. At least talk.” 

“Talk,” Shepard repeats.

“To a professional. What about Chakwas? You’re a veteran, if you’re worried about cost. She’d help you for free or at least refer you to someone who can.” 

Shepard bites her lip, thinking it over. “Just Chakwas?”

Ash sighs. “If that’s what you’ll agree to.”

“Where is she assigned?” Shepard asks curiously. “I haven’t heard.”

“You haven’t asked, Shepard. She’s on Terra Nova for now, doing some work in a clinic. We could catch a transport and be there in a couple of days.”

Shepard scratches at the dirty fabric of the sofa she dragged home from an alleyway, obviously meant for trash. Whatever, it worked for a place to plant her ass even if it did smell a bit. 

“What about... you know.” She gestures vaguely at herself and tugs down her shirt.

“She’ll say nothing,” Ash promises. “Like I have, because you don’t want to deal with this right now. You’ll have to you know, eventually.”

“I know,” she agrees, quietly. “Just not yet.” 

Ash gets up and sits beside her. In a foreign gesture to Shepard, she gently tucks a lock of Shepard’s hair behind her ear. A lump rises in her throat. It was almost like having a sister, someone who cared about her. 

“I’m with you, Skipper. To the end. Like Kaidan would be. Like we all are.”

Shepard’s voice cracks. “I have nightmares. All the time. They won’t stop. The Reapers. Memories that aren’t even mine. There’s fire, something’s chasing me. He’s trapped and I can’t help him.” 

Ash takes her hand and Shepard accepts.

 

She grips Shepard’s arm tightly two weeks later as the ship to Terra Nova arrives on the civilian docking bay. Shepard’s eyes can’t stop dancing around the crowd, her breath harsh in her ears. She and Ash fight their way on board, unused to the clutter and noise of a civilian transport. Ash nearly starts a fist fight to secure seats for them together. The man thought better of fighting her for them once he saw Ash’s muscles and the glint in her eye. 

Shepard sits down gratefully. She’s so tired lately, sleep becoming a stranger to her. It was lucky that the salarian gave her time off from being his bouncer. He was starting to talk about training her in waitressing. When she had started to protest he had simply said, “Shepard, you getting too fat.” She was so offended that she couldn’t think of a witty retort until he had already left the room.

“Not too fat to kick your ass,” she had said petulantly to an empty room. 

She watches through a window as they clear the Citadel and a strange joy rises in her. Space, the endless stars. Surely this is as home for her as it gets. She feels an intense wave of longing for the Normandy, for the old days when the stars were her roadmap and the mass relays were beacons calling her to the next great adventure. 

She falls asleep finally for a while, her head on Ash’s shoulder. Her dreams are gentle for once. The ship’s hum is like a lullaby. 

She’s awoken to sudden screaming and jerks awake. Ashely is already unbuckling her seatbelt and Shepard does the same. There’s smoke everywhere, alarms are sounding and people are screaming and panicking. The ship won’t stop rocking violently. 

“What’s going on?” she demands, the threads of command in her voice.

Ash seems to come alive at her tone, her keen eyes searching for information, something to report. “I don’t know, ma’am. Something hit us, I think.” 

As Shepard moves to go further into the vessel, to find the cockpit or whatever is wrong, there’s another great yawning, endless screeching sound and something a floor above them explodes. Sparks and bits of machinery rain down upon them. 

She instantly knows what’s wrong. They haven’t hit anything.

“We’re being fired on!” she yells to Ash. “We need to set off the distress beacon now, and find the escape pods.”

Her command is irrefutable now, screaming, crying people look to her to save them. She stares at the frightened, terror struck faces and thinks, I am not them. 

“Get up,” she commands them. The ship rocks with another explosion, nearly slamming Shepard into a wall, but she throws out her hand, her biotics a challenging shriek to inertia and bounces herself back to a standing position. 

The display of biotics seems to galvanize the crowd, they rush to unbuckle themselves.

“Chief,” she barks to Ash, “Get them to the escape pods. I’m finding the distress beacon.”

Ash starts to argue but Shepard cuts across her, almost whispering so the crowd can’t hear.

“Without a beacon, we’re fucked,” she says bluntly. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and we need the fucking calvary if we have a chance to survive this. There’s Alliance patrols along this route. Someone will answer. They have to.”

Ash’s big brown eyes plead with her, but in the end she gives into the order.

“Alright, people with me!” she barks. “Nice and calm. Get in a line! No pushing!” 

Shepard dashes in the opposite direction, coughing from the smoke. She’s only wearing a simple black singlet and leather jacket, black leather pants her only armor. She regrets not packing her N7 armor. That would have been nice right now. She pats out a small flame that a spark ignited in her singlet, hissing when it singes her skin. 

She wracks her brains for ship schematics, cursing that she knows her way around Alliance vessels like most people knew their way around their own house, but civilian transports were another matter entirely. 

“Come on, come on,” she whispers desperately. “Where is it?”

Dashing past a window she nearly doesn’t notice it, only stopping when a great flash of yellow freezes her in her tracks.

The ship that is attacking them is massive, easily dwarfing their bloated transport. It looks almost organic, long and strangely shaped. And whatever it was firing at them looked nothing like any rounds or energy beams she was familiar with. And she’s familiar with a lot. She was in the Alliance since she was sixteen years old and lied on the application forms. 

What the fuck is going on? 

Her breath catches in her throat so she forces herself to tear away from the vision of death and run for the electronics room two corridors ahead. The device itself is at least familiar in the unfamiliar room. She slams a button.

“This is Commander Shepard of the Alliance-“

She winces at the inaccuracy, how innate it was to say that, but plunges on. 

“SOS. This is the transport Nimitz, from the Citadel. We are under attack by an unknown vessel. Requesting assistance. I repeat, we are a civilian vessel, under attack. We need assistance. We have civilians aboard and no way to defend ourselves. Please respond.” 

She wonders why the crew haven’t done this. Probably dead, she decides. They fired on the cockpit first, she thinks. Smart. Already crippling the vessel. 

She keys in their coordinates the computer fed her, holding her breath.

“Please respond.” 

It takes too many minutes. Her heart is too loud in her ears. 

A crackly male voice comes in, she tweaks the frequency to clean it up so she can hear what he is repeating. 

“This is the frigate Iwo Jima. We have received your message and are responding. Please stand by.” 

Sweat trickles down Shepard’s ashen face. “Thank god,” she mutters, then clears her throat so he can hear her. 

“Iwo Jima, we need lifepod retrieval. The vessel is too badly damaged. Enemy ship is advanced and armed heavily. I repeat, enemy ship is armed heavily.” Her words fail her. “I-I don’t know what it is.” 

“Received, Nimitz. Get to your escape pod. We’re calling in a portion of the Citadel Fleet for backup given your proximity. We’ll be there soon. Godspeed.” 

Shepard doesn’t wait to be told, she’s already sprinting out of the smoke heavy room, aghast at already how much worse the ship looks. Great portions of the hull have been ripped away, the only thing preventing her being sucked into space being the automatic kinetic barriers that activate when the hull is breached. The attacking ship looms ever closer.

Shepard falls to her knees as a sudden wave of sickness and inertia washes over her, her mind working overtime. Why here? Why now? Why a civilian vessel with no one important at all on it? 

Unless...

It was all for her. Pain shoots through her head, something like a memory echoing across it, mechanical and distorted by eons of time and space. 

She’d seen something like it before, once, a very long time ago in another cycle, in a life that wasn’t hers. The images flash through her head too fast to pin down and she suddenly wishes for the comfort of Liara’s hands on either side of her head, slowly the memories, sorting through them, helping her understand them.

Every day it seemed she discovered the Beacon left more of its mark on her than she would ever be rid of. 

And then she knows. She knows. It’s here for her. All these people could die simply because she’s here too. All because she decided to go to Terra Nova. 

She stumbles to her feet, all the more desperate to get to the escape pods. Desperate to live. The reality of it has her gasping for air, competing with the smoke. She doesn’t want to die. She wants to live. Please god, let her live. Let her see her crummy little apartment again. 

She rounds the corner so fast she actually skids on the metal. Ash is loading some of the last civilians on and turns with surprise, her hand reaching for Shepard.

“Get on!” she screams, just before another beam rips through the ship, severing the kinetic barriers.

Shepard is thrown into a wall. She feels something break in back and gasps at sudden terrible pain. She can’t move. She can’t think. She can’t breathe.

Kaidan, she thinks. Please. 

Space swirls around her, the stars blinking. Tears come to her eyes but don’t flow down her cheeks, they float away, devoid of gravity. 

She can’t breathe. There’s no air. 

She shuts her eyes. She doesn’t want to see the stars, not like this.

A warm hand grips hers. Shepard opens her eyes. There is motion but nothing but silence.

Ash has her hand as she grips the corner of the escape pod, and she pulls with all her might. 

Shepard is gripped tight and raised from perdition. 

The doors close around them and she feels gravity reassert itself. She slumps to the metal floor. She can’t move her legs anymore. There’s about ten other people strapped into seats, but Ash ignores them as she drops by Shepard, throwing herself over her to protect her from the inertia of the escape pod launching. Five other escape pods already drift around space, waiting for rescue. 

Shepard can hear her ragged breathing, great big gasps of air like it’s her first and last. The pain is so great in her back she feels like she’s going to pass out. 

“How bad?” asks Ash.

“Bad,” Shepard pants, tears stringing her eyes as they flow freely. She feels a warmth between her legs. “I think I’m losing the baby.” 

Ash holds her tighter.

Shepard stares up at the ceiling, watching out the viewport as a frigate jumps into view, immediately beginning to fire on the unknown vessel. Shepard holds her breath as the mass effect accelerated rounds do nothing to pierce the barriers around the insect-like ship. It fires back at the Iwo Jima but their shields hold, this time. Shepard knows a second shot will tear them in two just like it did the Nimitz. 

People in the escape pod cry out again, murmuring in fear. 

Shepard prepares herself to accept that she led another ship into its doom, trying desperately to stop the tears falling down her hot cheeks. She doesn’t want to die crying. 

Someone shrieks with joy. 

The massive ungainly shape of the asari dreadnought, the Destiny Ascension, jumps into space just behind the Iwo Jima. It absolutely dwarfs the Alliance frigate. Following it closely behind is the SSV Kilimanjaro, although smaller than the Destiny Ascension, it packs more firepower and carries a company of Alliance personnel, including infantry, marines and medical. 

“We’ve saved!” someone screams. Ash looks up too, for the first time, her mouth falling open in awe.

It’s beautiful, Shepard thinks from behind the haze of pain and fear. The insect-like ship can’t decide who to fire on. The SSV Kilimanjaro lets off several rounds, and this time one penetrates its shields. If sound carried in space, Shepard imagines the blasts would be deafening. The Destiny Ascension follows suit, this one with even more success. The asari marvel of technological advancement is unsurpassed as dreadnoughts go, but Shepard had only seen her in action once, in the Battle of the Citadel.

This time, she was the one being saved. A large chunk is taken out of the side of the insect-like ship. Shepard blinks and the ship jumps away into FTL and is gone, fleeing the battle now the odds were more even. It was over before the battle hardly began.

She realizes they couldn’t get to what they were after anymore, had lost track of her or thought she was dead.

How did they know? Were there indoctrinated beings on the Citadel, even now? 

She shuts her eyes, resting finally. She can’t know. She can’t worry about it now. For now, they’re safe. 

 

She wakes up hours later. Ash sits beside her. From the smell and the noise, she’s on an Alliance vessel, in a medical bay. Probably the Kilimanjaro from the size of it and the quiet in the room. 

Shepard can feel metal along her back, strapping of some kind?

Ash sits up, noticing she’s awake. She smirks but her eyes are red like she’s been crying. 

“I’m impressed,” she says, her voice cracking. “This time you managed to fracture your T7 through to your L3.”

“So,” Shepard croaks, “does that mean I broke my back really good?”

“Yep.

“Yep,” Shepard sighs. “Figures.” 

“The doctors say it will mend in a few weeks as long as you wear the brace and keep taking the medication to repair the bone. You’re restricted to lying on the couch, basically. Guess I’ll have to take some personal leave to look after you.” 

“Oh joy,” Shepard jokes but her voice is wobbly and more tears leak from her eyes.

Ash sniffs. “He’s okay, they said. Your amniotic sac ruptured but they managed to repair it before... well before.” 

“He?” Shepard says, tears now freely flowing. She reaches for Ash’s hand. She grips it tight. 

“Yeah. Tough, like his mom. And dad.” 

Shepard allows herself to sob from the sudden relief of it all, from the nightmare of it all, from the pain and fear and horror her life has become. But this. This makes her heart feel lighter and it’s the first time she’s felt that way since Kaidan died. 

Ash kisses her cheek, salty from tears. “You should sleep. I hear they’re giving you a civilian commendation for this. Anderson is fighting to have you reinstated in the Alliance for, and I quote here, ‘outstanding act of bravery and selflessness and demonstrating key qualities of the Alliance.’” 

Shepard half laughs, half sobs. “Of course he is.” 

Truth is, she isn’t sure if she wants back in, or if she wants to try and claw a life for herself that’s wholly her own. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She’ll always have Ash. And the others. She’s not alone, not really. 

“I can’t say I mind the commendation they’re giving me either, Shepard. But... what you do. How you just... are so brave. You do things other people can’t.” 

Shepard shakes her head and regrets it, the room spinning. “I’m not special, Ash. And you deserve it and more.” 

Shepard holds the other woman’s hand tighter and exhales. She dreams of stars under the haze of painkillers and isn’t afraid. 

 

Miranda sips a glass of wine, contemplating the man sitting next to her. His face is stony as he watches the vid screen, watches the footage of the Nimitz being blown to pieces. 

“So you’ve seen the news.”

He inclines his head to acknowledge her presence but says nothing. More than once they’ve come to physical blows that leaves him reeling on the floor once she tires of him, that little piece of metal in his brain shocking him senseless. 

“Knew your little girlfriend was something special the moment I saw her,” she says thoughtfully. “Quite pretty, too, isn’t she? Can see why you like her. No class though, of course. Typical of a gutter rat.” 

He curls his hand into a fist and wills himself not to rise to the bait. In this ship, even the walls have ears, EDI ever watchful and shackled to the Illusive Man. 

“Such a shame she didn’t accept my offer. You would like to see her again, wouldn’t you?” 

The man says nothing. He pictures her face, heart shaped and pale, with her brilliant eyes set in it like sapphires all the riches in the galaxy couldn’t compare to. 

Miranda trails a hand down his face. He swats her hand away. He hates how she seems to enjoy tormenting him, trying to get a reaction out of him. When he first woke up, he fought for weeks to escape before realizing it was futile. 

“Always so serious,” she coos. “Never mind. She’ll come to Cerberus on her own, one way or the other. The Collectors failed, I’m even more impressed with her. But you can see now what I’ve been telling you, the dangers out there?”

He swallows, his jaw tight. She was nearly killed. The news said her back was broken. 

“They went after her for a reason, you know it. And they’ll try again and next time she won’t be so lucky. The Reapers won’t give up. And I know you’ve been watching her. You remember it all, don’t you? Before Virmire?”

“I remember,” his voice cracks. 

“Of course you do.” 

He looks at her, fury blazing in his brown eyes. “But you won’t let me speak to her, won’t let me-“

Her cold eyes are nothing like Shepard’s. 

“Shhh,” she shushes him with her fingers on his lips. “You know the control chip was necessary. It was hard enough extracting you from Virmire before the bomb went off, if we hadn’t had agents there...”

She trails off and mimes an explosion with her hands. “And then I’m afraid you’d be nothing but dust. As it was your injuries would have killed you. All we ask in return for your life is your loyalty. And your obedience.”

His lips curls with disgust. “I’m a prisoner in my own body.”

“The body we fixed, the body we upgraded. You’re one of the most powerful human biotics now that we’ve improved your L2. Well, except for me, and your little Commander. That’s something to be proud of.”

He grabs a glass of expensive whiskey from the table and drinks deeply. The Illusive Man stocks it because he knows he likes it. Lately, drinking is the only thing he can control. 

Control. The ultimate illusion. 

“I’ll never join Cerberus.”

“You already have. Soon, you will see it our way. You’ll realize we’re the only thing between humanity and it’s enemies. Between Shepard and the Reapers. Now we require your help in acquiring an asset. Once she’s feeling better of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I don’t have the galaxy map memorized and am taking very generous liberties with geography. And probably timelines. 
> 
> Don’t you just love Mass Effect’s medical technology? I hope our future is like that. I at first thought it was pushing having so much body damage repaired but then I remember this is a future where canonically they can regrow limbs, cure most diseases, cure most cancers, and repair brains from whatever happened to Shepard’s when she went splat on Alchera and suffocating in space. 
> 
> Apologies for missing italics for ship names, I write in notes on my phone these days, but yes I know they’re usually italicized. 
> 
> To be continued in another fic when I get time to write again. Thanks for reading!


End file.
